Ignis Fatuus
by Meb
Summary: HGRW: Ron's engagement, an attempted murder, and an ancient ritual all conspire to drive Hermione out of her head.
1. Prologue: The Present

Summary: Ron announces that he's getting married is six weeks to a woman nobody has ever met. Meanwhile, someone is trying to kill Mr. Weasley and the Minister has asked Hermione to look into a special project for him. How long will Hermione be able to play the supportive friend and perfect employee before she takes matters into her own hands?  
  
A Note of Explanation: I feel that Hermione has tremendous potential to be neurotically funny if she weren't busy worrying over Ron's homework and Voldemort killing Harry. Therefore, I have set this story in the not too distance future of the trio were the world still has dangers but they have been allowed to mature and grow in relative safety after the demise of their mortal enemy (and no, I do not go into detail as to how this was accomplished because that is a tale for another story). Perhaps not everyone will agree with my vision of the future but keep in mind that this is just for fun.  
  
Furthermore, this story is not in the 1st Person but it is written entirely from Hermione's perspective. Therefore, we see things as she sees them and when she sees them. Some of the characters will not be fleshed out to everyone's liking but that is because Hermione—our brave heroine—can not be bothered with becoming buddies with all the supporting cast.  
  
Finally, I like reviews but I won't hold chapters for ransom. This story is completed and I will update every other day until all the parts have been uploaded. These characters do no belong to me nor am I making money off this, which is unfortunate since I could really use some.  
  
Without further ado . . .

Prologue: The Present  
  
_"When defeat is inevitable, it is wisest to yield." _

_--Quintilian_  
  
Some days are harder than others, and then there are the days that are put into motion to remind you that as bad as your life is, it could be much, much worse.  
  
Hermione heaved a sigh of relief as soon as she pushed open her front door and pulled herself into her flat. Her shoulders were sore from the tension that had been her constant companion for the last six weeks and her feet felt as though they had been squished up into tiny balls and then made to tango for three solid hours (although that wasn't too far from the truth). Sighing again, she elbowed the door closed hoping that the lock would catch but not caring enough to check. Really, someone breaking into her apartment and stealing all her dusty furniture might just be the best thing that had happened all day.  
  
She stood there for a moment taking in the barely used kitchen appliances and the immaculate bookshelves and felt tears prick at her eyes as she tried to figure out when her existence had become so sterile and static . . . and lonely.  
  
Shaking her head as if to toss off her depressing thoughts, she muttered, "Should have taken Fred and George up on their offer."  
  
The thought of the handsome twins who had chosen tonight of all nights to show that they had a human side brought a small smile to her face. Proving that they were capable of being nice— thought perhaps not tactful—they had taken turns keeping her company for the duration of the evening. They had complimented her, insulted nearly everyone else (for her amusement they maintained), and concluded the night with wagging eyebrows and sly suggestions that they continue their mini-party back at her place. Though all the positive attention had gotten her through the night with less booze than she had originally planned, it was the underlying concern and overwhelming support the twins had given her that had truly warmed her heart.  
  
Lost and not knowing what to do with herself, she almost moved to the kitchen to make something to eat before she realized that the burning in her stomach had nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with bone deep disappointment, the kind that was likely to linger for the rest of her life. "But no need to get all sentimental. It's only the end of my childhood, my dreams, and my chances at future happiness."  
  
Her words echoed in the entranceway and she imagined them traveling throughout her home, getting into the hard to reach corners and under her too neat bed. There was nothing to stop their progress, only knickknacks and things. No warm bodies, no warm feelings, just space and stuff.  
  
The despair that had been threatening all night finally slipped past her guard and began to choke her. Her knees shook before giving out completely. She collapsed against the wall, drawing her legs up and resting her chin on them as the tears started. She remained there for a long time, allowing her sadness to take control because she knew that tomorrow she would have to face the world again with her head held high. It was what they expected and truly, after putting up with her outrageous behavior, it was what they deserved.  
  
But tonight was her time, her last time she vowed, to mourn the loss of her everything. Moving to lay down in the narrow hallway, the stress of the day finally took its toll and she drifted off into a fitful sleep.


	2. Chapter One: The Past

Chapter One: The Past  
  
_"Once the toothpaste is out of the tube, it's hard to get it back in!" --H.R. Haldeman  
_  
"Thanks for coming," he murmured, bright eyes meeting hers quickly before looking beyond her seat to something outside her line of vision.  
  
"Like I'd pass up a chance to have you buy my breakfast," she teased, suspiciously wondering why he looked so chipper when it normally took him until lunchtime to get over having to get out of bed. He looked good, better than good, and she felt a pang go through her that had nothing to do with the massive amounts of caffeine she had ingested to keep her up for her all night work session the previous night. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"  
  
He tore his eyes away from whatever had caught his attention and smiled at her genuinely for the first time that morning. She couldn't help smiling back despite the sliver of unease that was making itself known at the base of her spine. "Would you believe I just wanted to give you a chance to nag me about how important a well-balanced breakfast is?"  
  
"Ron, I have never had to nag you about food before, it is one of the only subjects you probably know more about than me," she replied, only half- joking. He looked away again, giving her a chance to study his profile. There was still a boyish charm to his countenance when he grinned but her best friend had grown into quite a handsome man. Shoulders broadened and voice deepened, he had caused a stir wherever he went since their last year at Hogwarts. If he would only learn to keep his temper, he would be the ideal man.  
  
Not that she'd really thought about it before . . . much.  
  
She opened her mouth to ask again why they were there when the waitress came by to take their order. Rolling her eyes at the blatant flirting between the young woman and her companion, she mentally shrugged and hoped that the girl would manage to get her order right, not that grapefruit and toast was that hard to remember.  
  
"I need to tell you something."  
  
"Okay," she said slowly, putting down her teacup and shifting uncomfortably at the intensity of his gaze.  
  
"But you won't like hearing it," he continued, his tone grave.  
  
Narrowing her eyes, she questioned, "It's not Harry is it? Or your family? Ginny swore that your father was doing better."  
  
"No, no, everyone's fine. But Dad does love having visitors, he would really appreciate you stopping in."  
  
"Of course, I'll stop by on my way home tonight," she answered automatically. Mr. Weasley had been suffering the past month from a nasty hex meant for the Minister of Magic. She had been walking with both of them, updating them on the progress of her research, when she felt him convulse. Seconds later, the area erupted into harried activity and he was immediately taken away for medical help. Through she had been by to see him several times during his stay at St. Mungo's, she couldn't help feeling guilty that her work had kept her away this week and at night when she closed her eyes, she could still see him writhing on the ground.  
  
Ron seemed to be mulling over something in his head, an expression of reluctance and quiet torment falling swiftly from his face as soon as he noticed her scrutiny. He broke eye contact, staring off into the unknown before setting his jaw and looking at her again with renewed determination. "You trust me don't you?"  
  
"Ron, what are you on about? You're beginning to worry me," she admitted, a slight frown marring her features as she watched the heat collect in his cheeks prior to spreading across his face and the tips of his ears.  
  
He looked away again making her want to jump up to block his view of whatever kept distracting him. She was so bemused by his odd behavior that she nearly knocked her chair over when she felt his hand on her knee under the table. Her eyes came crashing back to his blue ones, seeing the turmoil there and gasping at the flood of emotions so clearly showcased in his glance. She was so entranced that it took her several seconds to realize that he was speaking, a mask of indifference pulled over his features that was in direct opposition to the fervor of his gaze and the warmness of his palm on her leg. "You know I would never intentionally hurt you."  
  
She nodded silently, unable to speak and thinking that this was by far the most unusual conversation she had ever had with Ron, which was saying a lot since they'd known each other from the tender age when discussing belly buttons and cooties was commonplace. She felt his fingers slip slowly off the exposed skin of her knee and ignoring the irrational thought that she was very happy she wore a skirt that morning, she finally found her voice. "I have a feeling you're right."  
  
At his perplexed expression, she continued, "I won't like what you have to say."  
  
It seemed her words had spurned something in him because he nodded slightly, as if agreeing with an internal statement, and said with feigned nonchalance, "I've met someone."

* * *

To say that her day went downhill from there would be inaccurate. As she tried to read the ancient manuscript for the twentieth time that afternoon, she reasoned that it was the shock of hearing that Ronald Weasley, the man who proudly wore his limited emotional sensitivity like a prefect's badge, had found someone who would put up with his sulky temper and Quidditch obsession that she was finding so upsetting. And any queasiness she had felt when he went on to tell her that he was proposing to this saintly woman was strictly from the oddity of the conversation, perhaps even the abundance of caffeine in her system, and not the idea that she had missed out on something very important, something that was as fragile and delicate as it was unnamed and unrealized.  
  
She had tried to salvage the morning by asking what she hoped were appropriate questions like who the hell was this mystery woman that he had apparently met and fell in love with without the first mention of her to his friends and why was he rushing into to such a monumental decision after so short a courtship. When these pertinent questions failed to produce much beyond shy smiles and wistful responses, she had dug in her heels and brought out the big guns.  
  
She closed her eyes and pictured the slightly panicked expression that had crossed his face when she had pointedly asked, "And what does your mother say about this? I can't imagine she'll be happy to find out her baby boy has run off and gotten himself engaged to a woman she has never even met."  
  
From that comment on, she might as well have been talking to herself. When they had finished their breakfast, or rather when he had finished and she had reduced her grapefruit to a shredded pulp, he had taken her hands and with pleading eyes asked her to understand that this was something that he had to do.  
  
Her stomach clenched tightly, bringing her mind back to the task at hand. Glancing at the clock, she calculated she only had about two more hours before she could ditch the office and escape back to her cozy, if somewhat unlived in, flat. Persistent to a fault, she started for the twenty-first time trying to pull some meaning out of the faded Latin text.  
  
No, the day hadn't gone downhill for Hermione Granger. She had already hit rock bottom.

* * *

She heard the pop of someone apparating into her home but didn't bother herself with climbing down off the counter where she was currently finishing off a plate of very expensive, very sinful, chocolate cake.  
  
"I thought you were going to go by and see Mr. Weasley after work," a masculine voice commented from the doorway to her kitchen. She turned to see Harry Potter, all messy hair and rugged build, standing not ten feet away looking like he was posing for Witch Weekly magazine.  
  
"I guess you've talked with Ron today," she replied, her mouth full of silky frosting. She thought about asking if he knew before she did, if she was the last person that Ron had told but settled for taking another large forkful of her dinner instead.  
  
"I guess he told you the good news," Harry shot back, arching a dark eyebrow quizzically as he pushed off the doorframe and made his way to her side. Settling next to her on the narrow counter, he surveyed the nearly empty plate and in a wry tone guessed, "Death by chocolate?"  
  
"What a way to go," she muttered, reaching between her legs to open the drawer and grab him a fork. Handing it to him solemnly, she said, "I'm only sharing this so I don't feel guilty about pumping you for information on Saint Cynthia."  
  
He studied her for a long moment before taking the bribe and digging out a heaping helping of the sweet dessert. Shrugging, he stated with a full mouth, "Fair enough."  
  
They ate on in silence, neither one speaking as they did their best to get every crumb and smear of frosting off the plate. When she showed no sign of starting the promised inquisition, he asked with a trace of awe, "Did you make that?"  
  
She snorted, wondering if Harry was trying to flatter her or if he really was clueless enough to think she had learned to cook overnight. "No, got it from the bakery down the street."  
  
They lapsed into silence again but it was the comfortable kind that enveloped you like the sunshine on a warm summer's day. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, feeling his shoulders rub against her lightly as he rocked back and forth in the way he sometimes did when he was deep in thought. He really was adorable at times, too bad that she had never been attracted to him. It certainly would have made her day a hell of a lot easier.  
  
"So, Saint Cynthia, eh?"  
  
Getting defensive, she snapped, "He always has nicknames for all my boyfriends! Perhaps you think he would prefer Cindy."  
  
"Hey, not the enemy here," he replied, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "I'm just as confused by this as you are. But out of curiosity, why Saint Cynthia?"  
  
"Well, the woman, if she even is a woman and not some teenager fresh out of Hogwarts, obviously has the patience of one if she's going to put up with him for the rest of her life," she fumed.  
  
"She's our age," he assured her, jumping down off the counter and grabbing some pumpkin juice out of her refrigerator. "Want some?"  
  
Shaking her head no, she asked, "How do you know?"  
  
"I had lunch with her today," Harry explained before noisily gulping down the chilled juice directly from the glass bottle she kept it in—he had sworn to her on numerous occasions that it tasted better that way.  
  
"That's disgusting, not to mention that this isn't even your house, your fridge, your juice, or your container," she griped on principle because it wasn't like Harry acting like a man was her biggest problem right now.  
  
Rolling his eyes, he finished off the juice before aiming his wand at the dish and muttering a cleaning charm. "There, good as new. Although you probably could have gotten some money for it if you advertised that it had been used by the Boy-Who-Lived."  
  
"Why don't you autograph it while you're here and I'll take it to my vault as a keepsake for my grandchildren," she retorted, causing him to chuckle and blush faintly.  
  
She looked up, meeting his startling green eyes and whispered, "Is she pretty?"  
  
"Oh yeah," he said with feeling. With a sympathetic look, he added, "Sorry, Hermione, you know his type. Blonde, blue eyes, thin in a borderline unhealthy way."  
  
Grinning in exasperation, she concluded, "That's because the only thing that scares Ron nowadays is that he might run out of food. He couldn't handle the competition at every meal if he actually dated someone who had to have more than a piece of lettuce to fill her up."  
  
Trying to look on the bright side, she said, "Maybe Saint Cynthia will come to her senses and refuse to marry him."  
  
"Hermione, you don't want his heart broken. And despite the fact that it's sudden and insane to think Ron might be getting married, I know you don't want him hurt," Harry scolded quietly.  
  
"No, you're right, I'd rather him be happy no matter how weird this is," she admitted. "It's just sad."  
  
"Like the end of something," he added.  
  
Nodding her agreement, she remained still as he took her hands and squeezed gently. Forcing a smile, he mischievously ordered, "Put on something decent, we'd better go get some more cake." 


	3. Chapter Two: The Past

Chapter Two: The Past  
  
_"Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love." _

_--Charles M. Schulz  
_  
A week later and the guilt was eating away at her. She hadn't owled him, she had skipped out on Sunday afternoon tea with his mother, and she had yet to stop by and see Mr. Weasley—all for fear that she might run into the happy couple.  
  
Despite her self-imposed distance from all things Weasley, Harry had turned into a valuable, if expensive, spy. It seemed that he had information in abundance and she had chocolate cake, it was therefore a foregone conclusion that they would meet every night to discuss the latest developments.  
  
Six nights had come and gone, full of amusing stories of Mrs. Weasley's threats to disinherit Ron for pulling such a stunt upon hearing that the wedding would take place in a mere six weeks (an idle threat since the Weasley bank account was never exactly overflowing), to the twins earnest attempts to welcome Saint Cindy, as she had become known in their evening gossip fests, into the family in a way they felt was appropriate for the future wife of their little brother. Ginny had been remarkably restrained about the whole affair and Harry, in turn, suspiciously silent on why the youngest Weasley was keeping a low profile.  
  
But Hermione was never one to avoid problems—with the exception of one little annoyance that was still nagging at the back of her mind—so when Harry begged off their normal evening together in order to fulfill other best man duties as assigned (namely picking out dress robes for the ceremony), she had made up her mind to go visit the man who had become like a second father to her.  
  
After all, it wasn't like she had gotten much accomplished the last few days anyway. Her research into ancient rituals and defensive charms, while still important, was not quite so urgent now that Harry had taken care of Voldemort.  
  
The little bit of progress she had made she gathered up to take with her to the hospital for Mr. Weasley to review. Although technically he wasn't her supervisor, as head of the newly formed Department for the Protection of Muggles and other Non-magical Creatures her work was of some interest to him. As the clock chimed to announce the end of another work day, she considered apparating directly to Mr. Weasley's floor but quickly discounted the idea in favor of walking the short distance to St. Mungo's.  
  
While officially employed in the Department of Mysteries, the Aurors were currently escorting the more senior employees as they moved the entire inventory of oddities to another—more secure—location. Until it was completely relocated, she was assigned to the Research and Development agency with which the Ministry contracted.  
  
She enjoyed her temporary job, what wasn't to love about being surrounded by some of the oldest and rarest books in the wizarding world? The only drawback was being stuck underground all day. There hadn't even been a clock when she first arrived but she had requested one on her second day. Percy Weasley himself had come down to install it and learning of her slight claustrophobia charmed a small part of the stone wall to look like a window that reflected the weather outside. When she asked where he learned the spell, he had directed her to the revised edition of Hogwarts, A History.  
  
In spite of the best efforts of Percy, however, the sight of a sunny day didn't quite match the feel of one. As she stepped out of the Ministry, she felt the gentle breeze on her face and opened her robes to allow the fresh air to carry away the slightly mildewed smell that always cling to her when she left the underground library. In no time at all, she had arrived at Mr. Weasley's room.  
  
Knocking tentatively before pushing open the door, she peeked in to see the man in question carefully packing several pairs of pajamas into his little battered suitcase. He had looked up as she smiled at him, motioning her further into the room. "Hermione, just in time."  
  
"In time?"  
  
"For the engagement party."  
  
Panicked, she repeated, "Engagement party?"  
  
He studied her with concern, no doubt wondering at her sudden lack of communication skills, and said, "Yes, the engagement party for Ron and Cynthia. I was just about to floo home."  
  
Pain tore through her leaving a dull ache in her chest as she took in the information that not only had the plans progressed to the point that gifts were involved but Ron had apparently thought it unnecessary to invite her. Stupid, idiotic little gnome of a man that he was (well, maybe not so little anymore), he had completely forgot that he had a best friend who might possibly be interested in being around for one of the most important events of his life. Feeling awkward, she picked at the scratchy sheets on the hospital bed and admitted quietly, "I don't think I was invited, Mr. Weasley."  
  
He studied her again, looking at her as if she had a blast-ended skrewt growing out of her head, before his expression of confusion cleared and he laughed. "Molly will hex me into next Tuesday when she finds out I forgot!"  
  
She barely paid attention to his ramblings as she fought feelings of betrayal and relief. The former because she had to wonder if Harry, her supposed partner in crime, had lied about going to find wedding clothes when the plan was really to go to the apparently exclusive engagement party. The latter due to the fact that she had the perfect excuse to not attend and didn't have to worry about inventing a lame story to get her out of meeting the future Mrs. Ronald Weasley.  
  
"It's a total surprise, Molly's idea obviously. Asked me to ask you days ago but Harry brought me these wonderful Muggle magazines, Popular Mechanics, and I didn't give it another thought," he prattled on, totally oblivious to the fact that she wasn't hearing half of what he said.  
  
"But Harry said—"  
  
"Hermione, you know Harry is a horrible liar, he'll be as surprised as Ron. Bill will make sure they both get there on time," he pointed out with a grin. "Speaking of which, we had best get going if we don't want to be late."  
  
"But I don't have a present!"  
  
"Nonsense, they'll be happy to have you there."  
  
"I have so much work to do . . ." she trailed off weakly, knowing even as she made this last ditch effort that Mr. Weasley would not take no for an answer.  
  
"I was counting on you to get me back to the Borrow," he countered. "I'm still weak and I could use the help."  
  
He really was incorrigible. He looked healthier than she did, not to mention the fact that he didn't know she was coming by until she knocked on the door five minutes ago so there was no way he was counting on her for anything. That being said, she still knew she was trapped. And what was so amusing was that he knew she knew she was trapped, she could tell by the twitching of his lips. "Fine, I'll sign my name on whatever Ginny got them."  
  
"That's the spirit! Now have you seen my rubber duck?"  
  
Ten minutes later, rubber duck secured safely in a worn Weasley jumper, she crouched down in the fireplace as Mr. Weasley said the words that had them traveling recklessly towards what she jokingly referred to as her summer home in the country. The trip was rough, more so than usual, but it wasn't until she went flying out of the opening at the Burrow, directly into a rather large, rather pleasant smelling lump that she wondered if the Ministry had a rookie monitoring the network that evening. Honestly, she was fortunate to be alive.  
  
Of course, it wasn't surprising that the hunt for the plastic bath toy had put them behind schedule and therefore a room full of people celebrating the upcoming union of the gnome and his beanpole witnessed her grand entrance. Furthermore, as she groaned and blew the wild frizzy curls that had escaped her haphazard bun out of her eyes, she caught that Mr. Weasley had fared much better than her, merely looking a little pale with black smudges covering him from head to toe, giving him a slight resemblance to a large dalmatian.  
  
She tried to push herself off her lump and felt a strong pair of arms tighten at her waist as her would-be savior began to shake with laughter. Still in a very compromising and very horizontal position, she lifted her head enough to watch as Charlie Weasley grinned up at her from the floor. How he managed to look like there was no place he would rather be amazed her as she felt her own cheeks grow hot with embarrassment, hearing the shocked murmurs (obviously Saint Cindy's family) and stifled laughter (apparently Harry and twins had front row seats) from their audience.  
  
"You sure know how to make an entrance," Charlie whispered to her, his eyes twinkling playfully. "I can't say I didn't enjoy it though."  
  
"Charlie!" Her voice broke as she squeaked at him, trying to keep from giggling at his antics.  
  
"That's enough, Charlie. Let her up," Ron called from somewhere above them, sounding more stern than the situation called for in her opinion.  
  
She pushed herself off again, this time meeting no resistance. Jumping to her feet and briskly dusting off her robes, she hoped everyone would go back to doing whatever it was people did at an engagement party and ignore her. When she finally gathered the courage to look at something higher than the dozens of feet scattered around her, she realized she wasn't that lucky.  
  
Nervously running a hand over her hair to smooth it down, she stammered, "Um, hello everyone. Hermione Granger, the best friend." She nearly winced when she heard how silly her words sounded. But really what did they expect from someone who couldn't even floo like a normal witch?  
  
"One of the best friends," Harry pointed out loudly, taking pity on her and drawing attention away as she escaped to the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, she began to lightly beat her forehead against the icebox.  
  
"So much for cool, calm, and collected," she muttered, resting her head in her hands.  
  
"But on the bright side, I haven't seen Charlie that happy since he rescued those twin dragons three years ago," an amused voice stated beside her. Weakly, she turned her head enough to spy Ginny as she grabbed a warm peanut butter cookie from one of the many trays of food perched throughout the kitchen.  
  
"I hate you," she said without heat.  
  
"What did I do?"  
  
"You eat whatever you want and never gain any weight," Hermione answered, reaching over to break off a small piece of the cookie. Feeling the tiny pieces of peanut butter melt in her mouth, she moaned.  
  
"I think you're enjoying that a little too much," Ginny teased. "Besides, we're the same size, which is really quite convenient since I want to borrow your black dress on Saturday."  
  
"What if I have a hot date that night?"  
  
"What if . . . Hermione, you have never had a hot date."  
  
"Desperate times call for desperate measures. I have to find a date to your brother's wedding," she mumbled, grabbing another cookie.  
  
"I'm sure Charlie would volunteer," her companion joked as she stuffed half a chocolate cookie in her mouth. "Besides, I like the red one on you better."  
  
"Only because it clashes with your hair," she pointed out.  
  
"I don't deny it," Ginny answered. Thoughtfully she added, "Harry would go with you."  
  
Sighing, Hermione nodded. She wasn't too fond of having a pity date to Ron's wedding but it was still better than going alone. And at least Harry knew their history and wouldn't ask annoying questions all night. "I suppose. Do you know what you're wearing yet?"  
  
"Where is this unnatural obsession with food and clothes coming from, Hermione? Since when have you cared?"  
  
"Just making conversation," she shrugged. Feeling Ginny's penetrating gaze on her, she confessed, "Okay, I'm trying to delay going back out there. Humor me."  
  
"Well, you're looking at one of ten bridesmaids . . . so honestly, I'll probably be wearing some bright orange monstrosity with a crazy flowered hat," Ginny pouted.  
  
Shocked, Hermione almost dropped her cookie. "Ten bridesmaids? Isn't that a bit . . .much? How are they going to plan all that in six weeks?"  
  
"Five weeks now, my dear. Saint Cindy seems to have her heart set on a large wedding and honestly there's not much chance of having anything but in this family."  
  
"You've been talking to Harry," she observed wryly.  
  
"Can't keep a secret, that one," Ginny said sagely. "Since you're so vulnerable right now, I won't berate you for not inviting me to your nightly meetings. Just remember that Harry is a man and only sees so much, I'm a more reliable source."  
  
"Vulnerable? I'm not vulnerable. I was surprised, but if he's happy, I'm happy." And if anyone believes that, she would eat the flowery bridemaids' hats . . .all ten of them.  
  
"I meant because you flew out of the floo network," Ginny explained with a saucy wink.

* * *

She was exhausted. Her cheeks hurt from pretending to smile all night, her tongue would probably have to be surgically reattached from all the times she had to bite it to keep from making a retort to the Not-So-Saintly Cindy's numerous veiled insults. The woman might look like an angel but her claws were sharp enough to draw blood.  
  
Thank goodness the Weasleys were such a large clan because it took all night to say hello to everyone, giving her a ready-made reason to spend as little time in Sinister Cindy's presence as possible.  
  
But the worst part was that Ron seemed completely besotted with Cynthia and totally blind to her faults, which Hermione had found in abundance in the first minute of their acquaintance.  
  
Firstly, she talked down to people, either from a belief that they were all too stupid to understand her or that they were simply beneath her notice. She was pretty, even Hermione had to admit that as much as it pained her, but it was a high-maintenance kind of beauty. There was no way Cindy rolled out of bed looking like that in the morning. Even Cynthia's family set her nerves on edge, several of them had a shifty look about them like they were in on some plot or waiting for the lights to go out so they could steal the rug out from under the Weasleys' feet.  
  
Something wasn't right there. She knew it.  
  
Or maybe she was just jealous . . .  
  
Sighing for the umpteenth time that night, she sprawled out on her couch and amused herself for the next hour by staring blankly at the ceiling. If she looked at the textured finish long enough, she could start picking out shapes. As the spot about two feet to her left began to take on the look of the too large engagement ring Cindy was sporting that evening, the roar of flames filled the room and she turned on her side to watch as Ron's head appeared in the green tongues of light.  
  
"Busy?"  
  
"Terribly, can't you tell?"  
  
"I'm coming over," he stated, though he needn't have bothered since he stepped into her living room seconds later. Holding a package of some sort, he took in her relaxed position and casual attire and commented, "Don't you look comfy?"  
  
"No choice," she replied, allowing him to move her feet so he could sit next to her, "all my sexy lingerie was dirty. It's been an eventful week." Not to mention an incredibly long night . . .  
  
Laughing at her melodramatic tone, he said, "I'd suggest you invite him--or them--to the wedding but judging from the guest list Mum showed me yesterday, they're probably already on it."  
  
"Serves you right for springing this on her at the last minute," she scolded him, trying to not notice the way he had lifted her feet into his lap and allowed his hand to rest on her ankles. He had done this countless times before and it had never (hardly ever) affected her quite this way.  
  
Maybe she just wanted what she couldn't have. Or maybe she finally felt comfortable admitting her feelings to herself now that she had a justifiable reason not to share them.  
  
"She figured you'd take her side so she packed you some supper," he announced tossing the package of food onto her stomach, making her gasp and double over. "Said you were too skinny and you didn't touch a thing at the party."  
  
Sitting up and carefully avoiding his eyes so he couldn't guess about her pre-dinner cookie-eating contest with Ginny, she poked through the bag. "Have I mentioned lately how much I love your mother? Hey, my chicken has been nibbled on!"  
  
"Sorry about that, got hungry earlier," Ron said sheepishly. Silence grew between them, filling in the void left by things they never had and now never would discuss. "I'm glad you could make it tonight."  
  
"I really should have been working."  
  
"Somehow I doubt that but it's comforting to hear anyway," he answered, relaxing against the back of the couch. She gave him a questioning look and although he didn't seem to notice it, he answered her silent inquiry of his own accord. "Things are changing so fast, at least I can count on you to be a workaholic."  
  
"Good old Hermione," she muttered, surprised at the bitterness that had found its way into her voice.  
  
"That's not what I meant," he argued. She wanted badly to start a row with him, wanted him to get mad and yell and shout and perhaps end their friendship that very night so she didn't have to sit in Mrs. Weasley's garden and hear him say I do. Unfortunately, he had chosen to be rational tonight.  
  
"Mum said something interesting before the party," he continued, still not looking at her but tracing his fingertips along the tender skin on the top of her foot. Her breath hitched but he seemed unaware of what he was doing and her reaction to it. "Mentioned that Charlie had been talking about you a lot more recently."  
  
"That might have something to do with the fact he's actually had a conversation with me that lasted longer than a couple of minutes," she reasoned. She had never been particularly close to Ron's two oldest brothers because they were out on their own before she even started at Hogwarts but since working at the Ministry, she had gotten to know both of them better. They were experts in their fields and wonderful sources for information. Charlie was the brave man who volunteered to test Hermione's new fire shield once she perfected it and had taken an eager interest in the development of the charm to make sure he understood exactly what she was doing and why.  
  
"He's a nice guy," Ron said, his words encouraging but sounding like he had to force them out against his better judgment.  
  
"Ronald Weasley!" Snatching her feet out from his grasp, she flew away from the sofa and glared down at his worried face. "I can not believe you think you have the right to try to set me up with your brother just because you're settling down!"  
  
"Why? Is my brother not good enough for you?"  
  
"Honestly, Ron, are you always a prat at this time of night or is it only when you're around me," she huffed, sitting back down at the opposite end and crossing her arms angrily. "Besides, if you weren't so wrapped up in your own whirlwind romance you would have noticed he is smitten with Professor McGonagall's niece."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Oh indeed."  
  
"I was only passing along what I heard, that'll teach me to be helpful," he complained, reaching in to grab some food from her package.  
  
Incensed, she pulled the food out of his reach and barely stopped herself from slapping his hand. "More like that'll teach you to be a gossip and matchmaker."  
  
Stubbornly refusing to be the one to crack, she stared straight ahead. She felt the couch shift as he scooted over, knowing that if she looked at him he would have his best apologetic look in place. Not that he would mean it, apparently she had thought he meant a lot of things that he really hadn't and she wasn't going to delude herself anymore. "Believe it or not, I didn't come over here to start a fight or try to convince you to date my lousy brother . . ."  
  
"A minute ago he was a nice guy," she reminded him obstinately.  
  
"A minute ago I thought you might like him and I was trying to be supportive," he answered, nudging her a bit with his shoulder.  
  
"How thoughtful."  
  
"I know how hard it is when your friends don't like the person you do," he murmured.  
  
His quiet observation shook her to the core. On one hand she wanted to ask him what he had expected when he dropped Cynthia on her without warning. If he thought they should become instant best friends just because she was his fiancée, he was living in a dreamworld. But on the other hand, she hadn't meant for her dislike of the other woman to be so obvious. By the expression on his face, he truly was troubled. Nudging him back, she offered, "I'll do better the next time I see her. I promise."  
  
"You didn't do anything wrong, Hermione," he assured her. Softly, he said, "I got the feeling tonight that everyone was a little disappointed in me . . ."  
  
Despite her own disappointment, she put an arm around him and gave him a heartening look. "It'll take some time but I'm sure they'll come to love her like you do."  
  
She felt him tense at her words and suck in a deep breath as if he had been punched. Before she could ask why, he had relaxed and laid his cheek on her hair. "I had no idea it would be this hard."  
  
As he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, she allowed herself one moment to savor the feel of being in his arms. Ron had never been the most affectionate man in the world, having never grown out of that awkwardness of youth when it came to physical contact. But tonight he seemed to be more at ease with their closeness even if she could feel tension rolling off him in waves.  
  
He was her best friend, that was what she had to remember. Even if everything else was lost in the haze of hurt feelings and too late epiphanies, she still had their friendship. Something inside her started to ache but she pushed it away. "It'll be worth it in the end, Ron. You have to believe that."  
  
He squeezed her, pulling her tightly against his side and said in a husky voice, "That's what I keep telling myself."  
  
He let her go shortly thereafter. With a lopsided grin, he commented, "Now that I've thoroughly depressed us both, I'll get to the real reason I'm here."  
  
He took her expectant look as a cue to continue. "I was wondering . . . that is, you know Harry is my best man. Which probably isn't too surprising really . . ."  
  
"Right . . ."  
  
"But it didn't feel right, not exactly anyway. So I thought that maybe, if you didn't mind, you could be my best man--in addition to Harry . . . kind of a back-up."  
  
"In case Harry fails to perform to your expectations?"  
  
"No! You're always twisting my words. I meant that I would feel better if you were both at my side on my wedding day."  
  
She was touched even though it felt like someone had hit her with a Cruciatus curse. She was beginning to lose the battle with her frayed emotions and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. In a voice heavy with emotion, she answered, "Sure, Ron. It would be my honor."  
  
He reached for her but she knew her heart might shatter at his touch so she jumped up and announced in an overly bright voice, "I'm worn out. I think it's time for me to get to bed."  
  
"Oh, okay. Sorry to keep you up so late," he responded, acting a bit uncertain at her abrupt change in attitude. He looked like he might try to hug her but she took another step away and gave him what she hoped appeared to be a genuine smile. "Well, goodnight then."  
  
She watched as he entered her fireplace and shot her a confused look right before he disappeared. He was gone when her words filled the darkness. "Goodbye, Ron."


	4. Chapter Three: The Past

Chapter Three: The Past

_"Ordinarily he was insane, but he had lucid moments when he was merely stupid." _

_--Heinrich Heine  
_

Hermione's new personal mantra was the time-tested 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.' She was fairly confident she would be eligible for the next Iron Wizard tournament at the rate she was going.  
  
Two weeks until the big day. A mere fourteen days until her childhood friend, occasional crush, and all around ideal man tied the knot to the most undeserving woman she had ever met in her entire life. While it bothered her that the ungrateful little witch was getting such a sweet, if somewhat clueless, wizard to have and to hold for the rest of their days, after much reflection she decided it would probably be even harder if Cynthia had been perfect for Ron. Of course, that line of thinking always made her feel lower than dirt because she was practically wishing her best friend a lifetime of heartache.  
  
She had run the gambit of emotions over the last three weeks as she watched from the sidelines while Mrs. Weasley nagged Ron to within an inch of his life over seating arrangements and caterers. Try as she might, she couldn't miss the wistful looks Mrs. Weasley would throw her way every so often as if to say, 'This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen but I love you anyway despite the fact that you're a big coward and lack the spirit of a true Gryffindor.'  
  
Maybe that wasn't exactly what she was trying to convey but Hermione knew a look when she saw one.  
  
At first, she had fallen back on her favorite coping mechanism: denial. She was good at it, having loads of experience, and had been sure it would serve her well once again. Unfortunately, for about the third time since she was old enough to read, she was wrong.  
  
Having been failed by old reliable, she had made her way through anger, fear, confusion, giddiness (courtesy of Ginny Weasley and a bottle of wine), and had settled into cold acceptance with a side of bittersweet emotions. There really wasn't much she could do besides declaring her undying love for him and, though she was growing surer with every passing hour that love was what kept her awake at night and fantasizing during the day, friendship kept her silent. She respected what they had too much to taint his memories of his wedding with an eleventh-hour plea.  
  
Not that she didn't dream of him knocking on her door after coming to his senses and making love—  
  
"I thought that since we were having the ceremony here, it wouldn't be as much work," Ron stated as he dropped heavily into his father's favorite armchair. "She's gone completely mad."  
  
"You haven't exactly been helpful," Harry pointed out, taking the seat next to her with an amused smile. "She's going to flip when she finds out that you told Fred and George they could try their new fireworks at the reception."  
  
"I figured at least someone should be having fun at the ceremony," he muttered, running his fingers through his already wild hair.  
  
"Don't worry, that's what the wedding night is for," someone said. Seeing the shocked expressions her two friends were sending her way, she belated realized it had been her. Wondering if her mind and her heart had finally seen eye to eye and called a truce, allowing her to feign indifference and maintain a pleasant numbness, she snapped her mouth shut and waited. Ah, there was the hurt and pain . . . it really was too good to be true.  
  
"And what would you know about it?"  
  
Hermione could feel her mouth gape at the harshness of Ron's question but instead of answering, she pried herself out of the loveseat and left without a word. Harry's voice, hard and menacing, carried into the dining room but she blocked it out. She ran her hands over the various ugly clocks and matching tea sets that had begun arriving a few days ago, cattily thinking that her relatives would have given much better gifts.  
  
Vaguely, she wondered what to get the man who had promised her everything and offered nothing. What was the appropriate gift to say, 'It should have been me you big ass even though I never gave you any indication or encouragement and laughed when people suggested the idea . . . you should have known.'  
  
Somehow, she doubted candlesticks would get the point across.  
  
And she'd walk down the aisle with Draco Malfoy before she'd buy them something for their bedroom. Petty perhaps but her sanity was already hanging by a thread.  
  
Sighing, she figured she had given Harry enough time to satisfy his quasi- older brother tendencies and Ron to cool down. She walked back into the living room, watching as Ron whispered fervently to his best friend, Harry nodding briskly with a no-nonsense expression on his face. She cleared her throat a la Umbridge and watched with growing curiosity as Ron jumped nervously and Harry worked hard to make it seem coincidental that he wasn't making eye contact. Something was definitely going on . . . she'd have to get Harry off by himself and wiggle it out of him.  
  
"I'm on my way out," she announced quietly.  
  
"But Mum's making dinner—"  
  
"I'm behind at work and if I'm going to have to take off Thursday to get fitted for that blasted dress, I have to get some research done tonight."  
  
"I'll walk you to the gate," Ron offered, knowing that Percy and Bill had placed charms around the Burrow to keep people from apparating in and out after the attack at the Ministry.  
  
She waved him away, suddenly wanting nothing more than to never see his kind face again. "No, I'll be fine. I'll see you in a few days."  
  
Before either of them could stop her, she walked out. The twilight shone beautifully on the clear night so far removed from the lights of the city. It would make a lovely setting for the wedding, the field alive with fireflies and the sound of wind in the trees.  
  
With a flick of her wand, she repeated 'What doesn't kill you makes you stronger' over and over again as the scene faded to black and she was once again in her empty apartment. 


	5. Chapter Four: The Past

Chapter Four: The Past  
  
_"Being a woman is a terribly difficult task since it consists principally in dealing with men." _

_--Joseph Conrad_  
  
Her head pounded painfully in time with the ticking of the clock. Rubbing her temples forcefully, she mused that perhaps having a timepiece down here wasn't such a great idea after all. What had started out as an instrument from which she could get some useful information had turned into a torture device, marking the time until she had to meet Cynthia at the dressmaker shop.  
  
Why she had to wear a Muggle dress when everyone else would be wearing dress robes was still a matter of some confusion. When Sly Cindy had heard that she was Muggle-born, she insisted on 'celebrating her differences' from the wizard world. Translation: Call attention to the fact that she wasn't a pure-blood. At least Ron had stuck up for her in his own backhanded fashion, pointing out that if they really wanted to showcase Hermione's differences they'd have her carrying the various awards and certifications she had received from Hogwarts and the Ministry.  
  
To her surprise, Ginny had sided with Cynthia. When faced with Hermione's patented death glare, the self-assured young woman had merely shrugged and suggested, "Wait and see."  
  
She had yet to go home from the previous night, having come across a line in an old journal that sent her off on a tangent concerning the transferal of magical power from one person to another. Since this was the topic the Minister himself had asked her to look into, she had spent long hours pouring over tomes trying to find more details about this ancient ritual. There weren't many facts to be found, only a handful of sketchy eyewitness accounts describing the ceremony.  
  
With a cramp in her neck, she closed her latest dead end and reluctantly decided to organize her notes and call it a day. She still had to go home and shower and maybe even catch a few minutes of sleep before heading to London.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, the words of her outline were beginning to blur and run together, her hand shaking slightly as she tried to make corrections and additional comments. And was it her imagination or was the clock unbearably loud now . . .  
  
Figuring her work would have to take a backseat this once, an admission she would have been proud of herself for making if it weren't for the fact her head felt like it was going to explode, she weakly stood up. The room began to spin mercilessly as she fought to keep from losing her dinner.  
  
"What is happening," she whispered, trying to catch herself on her worktable. Her arms were too shaky to hold her weight though and she fell to the cold floor , thinking she saw a shadow running past her as her head contacted painfully with hard stone.

* * *

"She's coming around . . ."  
  
Opening her eyes against her better judgment, she hissed when someone shone their brightly-lit wand in her face. As her vision cleared, she noted there were quite a few faces staring down at her, many of them topped with red hair. Trying to sit up, she only managed a few inches when stars started dancing across the scene. Falling back with a groan, she lied, "I'm fine."  
  
"You look fine," Ron commented dryly, his mouth thinned in anger. It was a testament to how phased she truly was that she didn't ask why he was in the cellar of the Ministry on a . . . well, whatever day it was. As a consultant for the Aurors, he only came in when there was a need. She had heard rumors that the department rarely made a move within getting the input of their chief strategist. "You're lucky Dad came to check on you after seeing you hadn't signed out last night or it could have been days before someone came across you."  
  
That certainly stung . . . surely someone would have noticed her missing. Or maybe not, she _was_ well on her way to becoming an old maid. Maybe she should go ahead and get a few more cats. "On second thought, Crookshanks would probably not take kindly to someone infringing on his territory."  
  
"What are you on about?"  
  
Oops. She was developing a nasty habit of talking out loud when she didn't realize it.  
  
"Ron, stop hovering, she took quite a blow. It completely normal for her to be a little dazed," Mr. Weasley ordered, moving his youngest son out of the way to squat down next to her. Gently he lifted her head and ran his fingers along her skull to check for injury. With a stern look that reminded her eerily of his wife, he questioned, "When was the last time you ate something, Hermione?"  
  
Massaging her pounding head, she frowned, realizing that she had no idea how long she had been out. "I guess that depends on what the time is . . ."  
  
"Almost noon," Ron answered, studying her carefully as his father finished his examination and sat back.  
  
Searching her still foggy memory for why that time seemed so important to her, she bolt upright causing an explosion of colored dots to cloud her vision and exclaimed, "Cynthia!"  
  
Despite the massive amount of pain she was in—just how hard had she hit her head anyway—she noted that Ron had paled considerably. He grabbed her arm roughly and demanded, "Are you saying Cynthia did this to you?"  
  
"Ouch! You're hurting me," she cried, feeling tears in her eyes that had nothing to do with her physical discomfort. It wasn't her fault he had misunderstood her and thought she was accusing the woman of something.  
  
Thankfully most of the crowd had dispersed, leaving only Ron, Bill, and Mr. Weasley. Still, she was determined not to cry in front of them choosing instead to focus on the anger that was now pulsing through her. Yanking her arm out of his hold, which had softened at her outburst, she ground out, "Don't be ridiculous, Ron. Your fiancée would rather have carnations in her bouquet than look at me long enough to cast a spell to knock me out."  
  
Curiously, Bill asked, "What do you mean by that?"  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as the eldest Weasley brother exchanged a thoughtful look with his father but was too caught up in glaring at Ron to ask why they seemed so worried. Refusing the prat's offered hand, she instead had Bill help her to her feet. She felt lightheaded, as if she were underwater and had held her breath for much too long. Leaning into Bill, glad to see Ron looking very irked, she took a moment to calm her temper. "Nothing, just forget about it. I must have been more tired than I thought and fell out of my chair and knocked my head against the floor. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm late for my appointment with the dressmaker."  
  
"You can't go by yourself," she heard from behind her. Rounding to tell Ron off, she was surprised to see it was Bill who had spoken. He must have seen her confusion (not to mention the stubborn cast to her features) because he continued, "I'm done here today, why don't we go grab your dress and some food. You can tell me about those shield charms Charlie keeps bragging about . . ."  
  
Faster than she could 'no thanks,' Bill had her by the elbow and was escorting her through the door and down the hallway. She heard the muffled voices echoing towards them but the words were jumbled and unrecognizable. "This really isn't necessary."  
  
"Oh, yes it is. I didn't want to have to sit through another two hours of Percy's meeting upstairs, where he is currently going over new regulations in excruciating detail," Bill grinned, pulling out some Muggle sunglasses once they finished signing out. Slipping them on to block the intense glare coming off the sidewalk of the hidden courtyard, he gave her a searching glance. "You okay to apparate?"  
  
"I don't exactly know where we're going," she admitted, squinting so much her eyes were aching.  
  
No doubt discerning the fact that she wasn't thrilled about her schedule for the rest of the afternoon, Bill grinned roguishly and tempted her with an alternate plan. "How about I owl Cynthia and let her know we'll be late. You can freshen up while I get Gin and lunch. Then we'll all go to pick out your dress together."  
  
"Actually, that doesn't sound like such a bad—"  
  
"Mr. Weasley!"  
  
Rolling his eyes, he whispered, "I can't quite get used to being called Mr. Weasley, especially with so many of us around."  
  
"Mr. Weasley! Urgent message for you from Gringotts, sir. You're needed immediately," the lady she recognized as the front desk clerk announced somewhat short of breath from her sprint across the courtyard.  
  
Uncomfortable and showing it, he finally turned to her and observed, "I suppose if I told you to wait here while I get Ron to come with you, you'd be gone before I got back so I won't bother. Promise you'll be careful, Hermione."  
  
"Honestly, I think you're making a big fuss—"  
  
"Maybe, but as your honorary older brother, you'll have to excuse me. I'll have Ginny come by to check on you later and you two can sit around and complain about me all you want."  
  
With a flash of a smile, he was gone. Sighing, she followed suit immediately. Best to get it over with as soon as possible.

* * *

Several wrong turns later, she nearly staggered into Melody's, the small and well-hidden magical shop that specialized in Muggle-dress for formal occasions. Sickly Sweet Cindy had taken great pleasure in regaling Hermione with tales of the store's popularity for witches and wizards as _the_ place to get their Halloween costumes. The conversation left her with images of plastic masks and ill-fitting superhero capes.  
  
"Here she is," her arch-rival announced, appearing beautiful and poised as always. Haughtily, she narrowed her eyes and asked, "What in the world happened to you? I was beginning to think you had forgotten our little appointment."  
  
"Had some trouble getting away from my desk," she answered, barely stopping the hysterical chuckle that threatened to escape. She could not deal with Cynthia's nasty-nice comments and pointed questions. She was tired, hungry, sore, and bitter. Unconsciously her hand twitched towards her wand . . .  
  
Surely it would be considered justifiable homicide.  
  
"Well since you're so late, I'm afraid I won't be able to stay and see you try on the dresses I've picked out," Cynthia informed her with a long- suffering sigh. "I don't know why Ron's so insistent on having you as his unofficial best man, although with your shoulders . . ."  
  
"I guess it has to do with the fact that I'm closer to him than any other woman on Earth," she retorted, silently daring Cynthia to give her an excuse to excise some of her frustration.  
  
"Oh dear, I've offended you," Cynthia laughed coldly. "Ron never mentioned you being so sensitive. Of course, we normally have more important things to talk about . . . and do."  
  
Obviously happy to leave Hermione to dwell on her innuendo, she waved at the seamstress and breezed out of the shop. Wishing she would keep walking straight into the busy intersection, Hermione turned her full attention back to the matter at hand. She had to get a dress so she could go home and sleep for the next ten or twenty years.  
  
Following the elderly lady--whom she learned was Melody--back to the fitting room, she couldn't help but grimacing at the brightly colored and totally unflattering outfits Cynthia had picked out.  
  
"Yes, I can see now that none of these will do," Melody tutted, taking away the offending garments with a flick of her wand. With a kind smile, she asked, "How long have you been in love with the young man?"  
  
"Only most of my life," she responded, a watery smile hinting at the emotion she had left out of her flippant reply. When it looked like Melody might say something, she held up her hand to stop her. "I don't deserve your sympathy and I probably won't take your advice but I would greatly appreciate you making me look fabulous if for no other reason than to piss her off."  
  
Eyes sparkling, Melody nodded and said, "I know just the dress."


	6. Chapter Five: The Past

A/N: Since I was late loading chapters last time due to technical difficulties and I have a timetable to keep, here are is the next installment. Thanks for the reviews . . . I do love receiving them so don't get the impression I don't care. It's just that I've already spent the time to write the story so I plan on sharing it whether I get 1 review or 100 :)

Chapter Five: The Past  
  
_"I have no trouble with my enemies. I can take care of my enemies all right. But my damn friends . . . They're the ones that keep me walking the floor nights!"_

_ --Warren G. Harding  
_  
"What in the world . . ."  
  
She could not get a break. After having worked eighteen hours a day for the past week, stopping only when threatened by Mr. Weasley, she had gotten home late tonight with plans to actually sleep. Taking a mild potion, designed to give the user a dreamless night, she had crashed into bed and promptly passed out.  
  
Growling at the shrill ring that had ripped her away from the first night's rest she had gotten in too long, she realized that as much as she would like to ignore her phone only someone in dire need of help would be calling at three in the morning.  
  
Or at least the caller had better hope they were in dire need.  
  
Images of her parents getting in an accident or her cousin being dumped once again by her lousy on-and-off boyfriend, she pushed back the covers as the ring echoed through her bedroom.  
  
Fumbling around for the receiver, she groggily answered, "Hello?"  
  
"Hermione?"  
  
Resisting the urge to ask Ron who else would be answering her phone at this time of morning (because the answer was too depressing really), she settled for the safe response. "Yes."  
  
"Harry and I are in a moggle vision."  
  
"I'm sorry Ron, that last part was a bit muffled. Did you say you and Harry are in a 'moggle vision?'"  
  
"No, we're in a moggle vision."  
  
"A what?"  
  
"A MUGGLE PRISON!"  
  
Well now she was awake. "A prison? What in the world did you get yourselves into this time? I can't get one night. Not one night!"  
  
"If you're finished lecturing, would you shut up and listen for a minute," his exasperated voice sounded from the other end of the line. If he was trying to get on her good side, calling her in the wee small hours of the morning and telling her to shut up was not the best way to start. But then again, why would he care if he was on her good side when he had Sleek Cindy waiting for him at home.  
  
Hey, wait a minute . . . "I'd be glad to if you can explain why I'm getting this call and not your future wife! It would be better for everyone involved if she knew about your criminal tendencies now instead of later."  
  
"Please, Hermione, it's been a long night. It was going fine and then next thing I know Fred and George had disappeared, things got really fuzzy, and then the please-men came . . ."  
  
He really did sound like a broken man. No doubt the twins had decided a Stag Night prank was in order and, as usual, it had gone too far. Climbing out of bed, she started gathering her clothes. "Okay, tell me where you are and I'll be right there."  
  
"You're an angel. I owe you big time," he gushed, bringing a smile to her face. However, his next words wiped it right off. "We're in New York, how long do you think it'll take you to get here?"

* * *

Three hours and seemingly hundreds of forms later, she helped a still tipsy Harry into his flat. Neither young man could explain how they had ended up an ocean away or why exactly they had been arrested. Hermione planned to keep that little detail to herself until she could spring it on them for maximum effect. Imagine, two grown men trying to break into a flower shop in the middle of the night. The officers had mentioned something about daisies . . . if only she could have gotten pictures.  
  
Enlisting the help of numerous old schoolmates, she had managed to get two portkeys and authorization for the three of them to return home. The bail had been reasonable and the damage to the shop minimal. The hush money was the only real expense. Who knew Neville Longbottom could be so devious?  
  
"You're a great lady, Hermione Granger," Harry slurred, flopping down on his bed. She watched as he allowed his head to drift back and rest against his pillows. It would be a matter of minutes before he was out like a light.  
  
Feeling maternal, she walked over and began to tuck the covers around him. "At least someone notices."  
  
"Oh, I'm not that only one," Harry whispered and then—Merlin help her—he giggled. "Ron does too."  
  
"Funny way of showing it don't you think?" Harry really was the oddest drunk. Unpredictable in his actions and behavior. She walked to the bathroom to get him a glass of water, listening carefully for the first hint that he might be getting sick.  
  
"Broke Viktor Krum's arm off . . ." To the best of her knowledge, Viktor still had full use of both limbs.  
  
"Keeps your picture next to his bed . . ." Funny how the alcohol had erased the fact that it was actually a picture of the three of them.  
  
"Only fights with you to get your attention . . ." Of course it had nothing to do with the reality that they really didn't agree on anything. Besides they hadn't fought in ages, he must have decided he didn't want her attention anymore.  
  
"Went ballistic when Mrs. Weasley told him Charlie fancied you . . ." Been there, had that discussion.  
  
"He told me . . . told me everything. Things aren't what they seem . . . in danger."  
  
That was certainly different from your run-of-the-mill drunken confession. She turned off the water, focusing on the sound of the remaining liquid pushing through the pipes as she pondered what he could possibly mean by it. "Harry, who is in danger?"  
  
Not hearing his response, she made her way back to his side slightly annoyed to see that he had fallen asleep. Figuring that she had less than forty-eight hours to mentally prepare herself for one of the worse days of her life, she decided against waking him and questioning him further. Sleep would probably be much more beneficial than the ramblings of an inebriated gossip.  
  
Muttering a Sobering Charm, although he didn't really deserve it, she kissed his forehead right on his scar and quietly ordered, "Sleep it off, handsome. We're going to have a big day tomorrow." 


	7. Chapter Six: The Past

Chapter Six: The Past  
  
_"Always get married early in the morning. That way, if it doesn't work out, you haven't wasted a whole day." _

_--Mickey Rooney_  
  
All this time it had been under her nose. For two months she had delved through some of the most tedious literature, the most obscure references, and the most tasteless journals only to find that the spellbook she had been seeking was being used as a doorstop to the librarian's office.  
  
If her world wasn't scheduled to come crashing down later that afternoon, she would have been irked.  
  
As it was, she merely grabbed the book, replacing it with a second edition print of _Magical Me_, and settled in to read about the Mutuus Officium ceremony which hadn't been performed legally in centuries. Her find was more than she dreamed of, diagrams of proper positioning of the contributors and detailed outlines of the charms and spells used to make the transferal adorned the browned pages of the book. The chant repeated throughout the ritual was written in faded ink, followed by the phonetic pronunciation of each line.  
  
It was a beautiful ceremony. Its original use was to preserve the memories and work of a dying individual by passing on his magical powers to another family member. It wasn't until much later that dark wizards had tried harnessing the power of the rite to increase their own abilities. It was quickly outlawed and eventually fell out of memory.  
  
The night described in this account was of an elderly witch coming to the end of her long life, passing on her knowledge and powers to one of her grandsons, who had been born a Squib. Both of the main participants had entered into the ceremony of their own free will otherwise no amount of magic would make the ritual a success.  
  
The author who painstakingly wrote each passage could not, however, write a happy ending to this story. While the ceremony had worked, one of the witch's other grandchildren had been jealous of her cousin receiving such a generous gift. Before the grandson could even recover from the stress of suddenly gaining the abilities accumulated throughout a lifetime, the jealous woman had murdered him.  
  
"Hermione, would it kill you to actually not come into work on your vacation?"  
  
Jumping nervously, she turned to see Ginny standing next to her worktable, hands on her hips and mouth thinned in disapproval. Knowing that it would only irritate the younger woman to comment on how much she looked like her mother, she chose instead to berate her for sneaking up on her. "Don't do that! You probably just took ten years off my life."  
  
"It's not like you're doing much with the years you have," she shot back. Instantly looking contrite, she apologized, "That was uncalled for . . . I'm sorry. But Hermione, I thought you were braver than this. I thought Ron meant something to you."  
  
"Ginny, please . . . it's his wedding day. I can't."  
  
She watched as the other woman tried to control her temper, a trait that set her apart from all her brothers and make her that much stronger. "Fine. I was counting on you to keep that scarlet woman out of our nice, respectable family but I can see your point. I don't agree, but it is your life."  
  
"Yes it is. Let me ruin it as best I see fit," Hermione weakly joked, gathering up her notes and making ready to leave. She was already running behind, no doubt the reason why Harry had sent his attack dog to find her. "I'll meet you upstairs in a moment."  
  
Seeing the disbelief on Ginny's face, she added, "I promise. I just need to make a copy of something."  
  
"If you're not in the lobby in five minutes, I'm going to have to take drastic action."  
  
Shivering slightly at the all too real threat, she waited until Ginny was gone to find a blank bit of parchment. Laying it smoothly against the page she had been reading, she charmed it to copy onto her paper. Watching the words soak through the parchment, she allowed a few seconds for it to dry and then carefully folded up the copy and hid it in her pocket. She turned to leave but a stray bit of paranoia made her retrace her steps, replacing the antique book in its former position as doorstop.  
  
Chuckling at her unease, and attributing it to her nerves about Ron's wedding, she left the room to face her fate.

* * *

"Beautiful, my dear," Mrs. Weasley murmured as she put the finishing touches on Hermione's hair. She had attempted to tame it herself but quickly found the task quite beyond her talent. Like so many times before, she had run to Mrs. Weasley for help. The mother-of-the-groom had been only too happy to fix her hair and makeup, relishing the opportunity since it was so rare for a mother of six boys and a self-sufficient daughter.  
  
Looking around the room she had shared with Ginny for so many summers, she caught sight of a picture of Ron and Harry. Without realizing, she began to cry.  
  
"Hermione, whatever is the matter," the older woman asked, concern apparent in her voice and in the swift glance she shot at her daughter. She made a futile effort to stop her tears but when she felt Mrs. Weasley's arms wrap around her shaking shoulders, she started to sob in earnest.  
  
"Good thing you put that waterproof charm on her face," Ginny commented, watching her with a mixture of curiosity and pity.  
  
"Ginny Weasley, if you have nothing helpful to contribute, leave," Molly snapped, pulling her into a hug and patting her back reassuringly. "It's okay, dear, I know you think this changes everything but it really changes very little."  
  
Her words, while true, caused Hermione to weep harder. It didn't change anything at all because there never had been anything. The only thing it changed was something that hadn't happened, that couldn't happen now, and so it wasn't really a change.  
  
Merlin, now she was confusing herself.  
  
"You'll still be friends, you'll see each other all the time," Mrs. Weasley tried again. Unfortunately, the effect was ruined when she added, "Now you'll have one more friend to spend time with . . ."  
  
"Yes, you're not losing a best friend, you're gaining Cindy," Ginny pointed out, her own face a mask of dislike. "Who are you trying to kid, Mum, none of us are happy about this. She's a terror."  
  
"That is enough, Ginny, shouldn't you be with the other bridesmaids?"  
  
"Sure, maybe if I'm lucky I'll blend in to the sea of bright pink and no one will notice my hair," she retorted, giving one last glance of disgust at the mirror to take in the pink, puffy dress robe she was wearing and the matching hat before storming out of the room.  
  
"Poor dear, she really does look like an angry, overgrown pig in that outfit," Mrs. Weasley remarked sympathetically. "You, however, look stunning. Isn't that the same shade you wore to the Yule Ball at Hogwarts in 4th year?"  
  
Startled out of her misery, Hermione looked down at her satin gown and smiled slightly when she realized that Mrs. Weasley was right. "I guess so, I didn't notice until you pointed it out."  
  
"Ron's always liked you in blue," she stated, tears glittering in her eyes. "I can't deny that I had thought it would be you—"  
  
"Mrs. Weasley, please don't say anything that might make this more awkward than it already is . . . Ron's made his choice and we have to be supportive."  
  
"It wasn't much of a choice when he only had one option," she pointed out with a stern look. Seconds later, her face softened and patting her cheek, Mrs. Weasley observed gently, "He's lucky to have you as a friend."  
  
Friend, that word was enough to make her sick to her stomach. Squaring her shoulders, she gently squeezed Mrs. Wealsey's hand in thanks. It was too late to turn back now, she could only go forward and then move on.

* * *

Harry sure did clean up nicely. The deep gray robes complimented his fair complexion and made his green eyes piercingly bright. She studied him fondly and with the first hint of amusement she had felt in days, she noted that he was checking her out.  
  
"My, my . . . don't you look pretty, Miss Granger," he said slyly, winking at her humorously. For the thousandth time since this whole fiasco started, she thanked the heavens above that the Boy-Who-Lived was so hard to kill and her brother in everything but blood. "I'll have to keep a close eye on you or I'll never get a dance tonight."  
  
Smiling at his sweet effort to put her at ease, she said, "Sorry I'm late. Where is everybody?"  
  
"The Brothers Weasley are already out there, taking up the entire front row," Harry explained, pointing out the window at the crowded garden. "Ron is at the front with his father."  
  
Seeing the man of the hour, she noticed the dark circles under his eyes and felt a pang of regret pierce her heart. He was unhappy about something, she could tell, and it stiffened her resolve to be as encouraging as she could. "He looks like he's about to lose his lunch."  
  
"I'd agree except that I know he hasn't eaten anything all day. You know Ron, he probably doesn't like standing up there by himself."  
  
She didn't believe that but it wasn't worth the trouble to say so. Shifting her attention to the man who was taking a seat next to his wife, she noticed Mr. Weasley looked more than a touch uneasy himself. "Harry, do you know what has been worrying Mr. Weasley so much lately?"  
  
"Maybe the after effects of that hex," he answered with a unconvincing shrug, obviously he had a theory but refused to share, which was fine by her because she had more important things to obsess about at the moment. Even over the low din of chatter and through the thick walls of the Burrow, she heard the change in music. Harry lightly placed her arm through his and said, "This is it. Are you going to be all right?"  
  
"Yes," she said with conviction she did not have, "I'm going to be fine."  
  
The aisle seemed to go on for miles as she walked slowly towards the canopy with Harry. The flowers were in bloom and fairies cast a soft glow that wasn't dimmed by the setting sun. Even the gnomes had called a temporary truce, choosing to view the ceremony from the fence post.  
  
She almost laughed at the reaction she got from the Weasley boys as she passed by them. Bill was grinning like a madman, Charlie reached out and touched her hand softly as she passed, Percy nodded approvingly, and the twins both gave her the thumbs up. "Those two are going to be trouble tonight," she heard Harry whisper knowingly.  
  
Finally, she caught sight of Ron, a little disappointed at the weak smile he gave her. She looked better today than she could ever remember looking. By the expression on his face, you'd think it hurt him to see her at all.  
  
Harry maneuvered them to their best friend's side as the music once again changed. She knew what this song was and its implications. Cindy was making her way down the aisle . . .  
  
Suddenly her good intentions and supportive friend routine vanished, leaving her with the certain knowledge that if she didn't tell Ron she loved him now, the opportunity would never come again. Ignoring the voice in her mind that warned her it was already too late, that she was only being selfish by admitting her feelings as his fiancée walked towards him during his wedding ceremony, she looked past Harry, who stood between them, and whispered, "Psst."  
  
Both men turned to see what she wanted and she felt her face grow hot. So much for leaving him in peace.  
  
"Please Ron," she pleaded quietly.  
  
He glanced at her, obviously confused, before checking to see Cindy's progress down the aisle. "What was that?"  
  
"Please . . ."  
  
"Please what?"  
  
"Please don't marry Cindy."  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harry's eyes grow huge and heard him expel a shaky breath but her attention was focused solely on Ron. She allowed everything she felt for him to show in her eyes as he stared at her, shocked into silence. Hoping . . . just hoping . . .  
  
The final chords of the wedding march were sounding loudly through the garden, failing to break the intense staring match between the two of them. She could hear the crunch of dry grass as Cindy neared them, almost feel her malevolent presence radiating towards her, but she dared not break eye contact.  
  
At length, Ron looked away blinking rapidly as if to clear out the memory of what he had seen. His eyes found hers again and she nearly collapsed at what she saw in them. He was hurting—hurting for her and for himself—but more than that he was pleading for forgiveness because he couldn't give her what she wanted. It was too late.  
  
As Cindy took her rightful place at his side, her expression smug, she heard the officiating wizard begin the vows. Some time during the ceremony, she observed with surreal detachment that Harry took her hand but she couldn't feel the warmth of his touch because she was already numb.

_A/N: Don't get discouraged. And that's all I have to say about that . . ._


	8. Chapter Seven: The Present Revisited

A/N: This chapter picks up where the Prologue left off. Enjoy!  
  
Chapter Seven: The Present Revisited  
  
_"Courage is the art of being the only one who knows you're scared to death." _

_--Harold Wilson  
_  
The soft tapping at the door roused her from her restless sleep in the hallway. However, her razor sharp mind quickly concluded that no good had ever come from answering the door—or the phone—in the middle of the night. Better to lay there, wallowing in misery. Since it was a new feeling for her, she wanted to experience it fully.  
  
"Hermione, open the bloody door."  
  
Cursing the twins for slipping something in her drinks, because surely she was having auditory hallucinations that sounded like Ron, she began humming to herself to block it out. He couldn't really be there because he was on his way to Salem . . .  
  
Honestly, what a ghastly place for a honeymoon.  
  
"Hermione, I'm going to open the door . . . don't hex me."  
  
Even her hallucinations weren't romantic. This is the part where he's supposed to break down the door, opening it with a simple spell didn't have the same effect at all. Moaning and deciding she rather like the way it echoed, she continued to noisily prop herself against the wall.  
  
Her blurry vision had cleared sufficiently to make out Ron's face, peering through the small opening. "Move away so I can come in, Hermione. You're neighbors are starting to worry."  
  
She did as he asked, wondering if all auditory hallucinations could open doors or if hers was special. Massaging her neck to work out the kink, she eyeballed him suspiciously and muttered, "What are you doing here?"  
  
"I come all this way to say I love you and this is the welcome I get?"  
  
"You're not real."  
  
She watched warily as he sat down beside her, his expression showing affectionate amusement that did not reach his eyes. His eyes were dead.  
  
"What if I touched you? Would you believe me then?" Without waiting for her answer, he reached over and caressed her cheek. The expected tingle never came and she wondered if it was possible to get over the love of your life in less than six hours.  
  
"I made a mistake, Hermione," he whispered seductively in voice that was not quite right. "The worse mistake . . . I want to make it up to you."  
  
Becoming more aware with each passing moment, she began to feel something she hadn't felt in ages: fear. Heart in her throat, she avoided looking at him and tried to remember where she had dropped her wand when she came into her flat. A casual scan of the hallway gave no trace of its whereabouts meaning it was either still at the Weasleys or it had rolled into the kitchen. "I'm not sure you can, Ron. I think . . . I think it's too late. You should go back to your wife."  
  
"Sweet, noble Hermione. Do you ever tire of being good? Do you ever think of how it would feel to do something forbidden?"  
  
His hands had fallen from her face to stroke her shoulders, effectively pinning her in place. She worked hard to keep her panic under control knowing in situations like these it could be deadly. She focused on two thoughts—that the person beside her was not Ron and that she had to get to her wand—and blocked out all else. She felt the imposter's fingers trail lightly up and down her arms leaving her cold. Luckily he mistook her body's reaction for something else and she felt his breath tease her hair when he silkily laughed. "I know you want this."  
  
Logic asserted itself, pulling out in front of the anger she felt at his words. Obviously whoever he was, he needed her alive. Otherwise there would have been no reason to disguise himself as one of her best friends and try to seduce her. No, if he wanted her dead she would already be gone.  
  
Despite her mounting curiosity as to the motive behind this elaborate illusion, she focused on how to escape from his increasingly pointed caresses without letting on that she saw through his charade. Just because he wanted her alive didn't mean he wouldn't hurt her if he was cornered. "Ron, I never thought you'd come back."  
  
"Mmm . . . how could I resist," he said as he nuzzled her neck. He pulled back suddenly, a slight smirk on his face. "We should go somewhere more private."  
  
If she wasn't already sure, the sight of Ron's dear features twisted into an arrogant smirk would have clinched it. Ron never smirked—goofy grins and bewildered smiles were about the most he could manage and even those were rare since the engagement. "More private? What's wrong with here?"  
  
"This isn't exactly the setting I had in mind for what I have planned," was the snide reply. She nearly rolled her eyes. She would have laughed if it weren't for the fact she was somewhat offended that they—whoever they were—had sent an amateur to capture her. There was no doubt in her mind that this idiot was not the mastermind of this unfortunate little snare, effective as it turned out to be. This man was too amused at his thinly veiled threats to even notice she was inching towards the kitchen. "Where are you going?"  
  
Okay, so maybe he was more observant than she gave him credit for . . . "I'm thirsty. Thought I'd get a glass of water before we leave."  
  
"We'll have some wine when we get there," he ordered, getting to his feet and pulling her forcefully to his side.  
  
She was faced with a difficult choice. She was reasonably certain that what awaited her in the 'private' place was not a romantic candlelit dinner complete with a bottle of wine and probably fell into the dark and painful category. On the other hand, if she fought him now and failed to get her wand, she was likely to be unconscious when he took her away and even more vulnerable. Trying to hide her disgust she feebly suggested, "Perhaps I should slip into something more comfortable?"  
  
"You're fine, stop stalling," the Ron-imposter barked. Apparently he had moved beyond seductive straight to severe now that she had more or less agreed to go with him. The jerk.  
  
Sighing, she realized there was nothing to do but get to the end of this scenario. At least then she would know what it was all about and could plan accordingly. It was a testament to how truly upset she was by the whole wedding and subsequent events that her only worry as she allowed Imposter Ron to make her touch an unquestionably illegal portkey was that she would ruin her dress.

* * *

Hermione wondered if she had done something to piss fate off. As if she was caught in a B-movie, her not-so-charming companion had brought her to an abandoned house in the woods. The cracked windows were so grimy that the moonlight barely penetrated into the room serving only to make it seem darker.  
  
"How romantic," she muttered sarcastically. After all, there wasn't much point in playing along now that she was alone, unarmed, and completely at his mercy. She may as well annoy him while she could.  
  
"Let's get out of here," he responded gruffly, the features he had stolen pulled into a grimace of fear. Not giving her a chance to argue, he roughly grabbed her arm and practically pushed her out of the house.  
  
"So when are you going to tell me who you are," she asked as if she had nothing better to do then stroll through the creepy forest with a stranger who would probably torture her before the night was through.  
  
"You are clever," her abductor said. While it might have been a compliment from someone else, this man made it sound like it was a crime worthy of death.  
  
"No, I would imagine a child could have seen through your pathetic act."  
  
"Save your voice, mudblood. You'll need it to beg for your life later," came his sharp reply.  
  
Despite knowing that he wasn't Ron, her mind cringed at the hateful name coming from what looked like his mouth. Frowning, she vowed, "You'll have to kill me because I won't give you what you want."  
  
"How do you know that killing you isn't what we want?"  
  
"Why all the pretending then? You wouldn't have gone to all this trouble if you didn't want something from me." She could tell by the increasing pressure on her arm that he was losing his patience. She would have bruises from his grip and randomly wondered how many she would accumulate before dawn.  
  
"We'll see if you're so clever when they get through with you."  
  
"I can hardly wait," she muttered. In hindsight perhaps she should have gone for her wand. Being conscious was highly overrated when one was being tortured for information.  
  
They continued hiking in silence. She thought of running several times but her captor seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to her flight attempts. Which left only one option: fight.  
  
With as much force as she could, she rammed her elbow into his ribs. The surprise of her attack caused his grip to loosen enough for her to escape. She kicked him in the shin for good measure and then sprinted away as he cursed loudly. She was at a distinct disadvantage having no knowledge of where she was or where she was going. She made a point to head in the opposite direction from the way he was taking her but the old house probably wouldn't make a very good hideout since it seemed to be the transportation hub for the operation and there was no guarantee that the portkey to her flat was still active.  
  
Several minutes later, she stopped to catch her breath. Formal wear and heels were definitely not useful in this context—or any other for that matter. Blasted nuisance really.  
  
In her haste to put as much distance between herself and Imposter Ron as possible, she had gotten hopelessly turned around. All the trees looked alike in the murky darkness and the forest seemed alive with noises that caused her to jump and start. Fatigued and scared, her strained mind decided that this was all Ron's fault. If she got out of this, she was never speaking to him again.  
  
That would show him.  
  
Better yet, she would go to Bulgaria. People appreciated her in Bulgaria. They didn't marry skinny witches and leave her to fend for herself with a madman while they played house in America.  
  
As she continued thinking of all the things she would do to get back at Ron, she began moving again. Not knowing where she was heading was not going to deter her. She was Hermione Granger. She didn't need a wand to kick some serious—  
  
"Wait a minute." Regardless of the fact she was alone, she continued, "There are lights up there."  
  
Rushing forward, she made her way quietly towards the glow. It could be dangerous but she doubted wandering around the forest for the rest of the night was going to turn out very well either. At the first sign that something was wrong, she would simply fade back into the woods and continue with Plan A.  
  
That had been Plan B until she saw the prone figure curled up on a rough- hewn stone altar. With a startled gasp, she hurried to the altar and quickly checked the woman to make sure she was still alive.  
  
Relieved when she felt the steady heartbeat, Hermione gently shook the unconscious heap and whispered urgently, "Cynthia . . . Cynthia! Wake up. Please wake up."  
  
Looking around to make sure no one was coming, she continued trying to rouse the woman. Any animosity she felt towards the blonde had disappeared as she desperately tried to wake her. She needed to know that Ron was safe. She needed to hear that he hadn't been captured as well.  
  
Feeling time slipping away from her, she couldn't help a small grin when she realized what she would have to do. "I'd say I was sorry but I'd be lying," she murmured a bit hysterically. Rearing back, she slapped Cynthia with all her might.  
  
Seconds later, she tried to convince herself that she was not disappointed that it had worked on the first try.  
  
"Granger, what are you doing?"  
  
"Get up! No time for questions, we have to get out of here. Is Ron here? Is he okay? Is he hurt?"  
  
"I thought you said there was no time for questions," Cindy answered with a faint expression of triumph. The woman sat up slowly acting like she was in no particular hurry. "You shouldn't have slapped me."  
  
"Look, I did what I had to for us to get out of here," she explained. The air had changed since Cindy woke, it was heavy with ominous stillness. The forest had grown quiet as if waiting for something to happen and Hermione felt the hair on the back of her neck raise in warning. The other woman looked unaffected. Actually she just looked angry.  
  
"You dare lay your filthy mudblood hand on me!"  
  
Her eyes flashed dangerously making Hermione take a step back. She wasn't afraid but she had only now figured out something very important. "A trap." And too late to go back to Plan A since out of the corner of her eye she saw half a dozen dark figures emerge from the woods.  
  
Cynthia jumped off the altar and ordered, "Tie her down. We don't have much time."  
  
She felt a strong pair of arms pick her up from behind as if she were lighter than a feather. Turning slightly she noted that the man was one of Cindy's so-called relatives from the wedding. He had been one of the ones she had found so shifty at the engagement party. If only she had listened to her instincts.  
  
From the still red hair that adorned his ugly features, she gathered that the man tying her down to the stone was Imposter Ron. She managed to land a few good kicks in his stomach before he tied her legs. She shivered to think that the revolting man standing next to Cindy had caressed her earlier that night. She would never feel clean again.  
  
"So I take it this is not about Ron," Hermione stated calmly. Cindy would have to do something a lot worse than having her henchmen chase her around and then tie her down if she wanted to see her afraid. She planned on using the last of her strength to hide the fact that she was terrified from the other woman forever. She wouldn't give her the pleasure.  
  
"He's a stupid boy," Cindy commented with a sneer. "Attractive but stupid. He couldn't believe his good luck finding someone like me who would have him after he made a fool of himself over you for years. That's not to say he didn't have his uses . . ."  
  
While it didn't take someone of Hermione's considerable intellect to figure out what she was referring to, she decided that a more appropriate direction for her thoughts at the moment was a method of escape. So she entertained herself by replaying the slap in her mind as she strained against her bonds.  
  
"Crucio."  
  
The pain was indescribable. She knew she was writhing on the altar but she had lost any control over herself. Cindy called off the curse, leaving only the lingering feeling that her body had been pulled apart and haphazardly put back together. Whimpering softly, she turned her face away so Cindy wouldn't see her cry.  
  
"I thought we should start this interrogation off on the right foot, don't you think, Hermione? Now that you know what will happen when you refuse to give me the answers I want perhaps you'll be more reasonable."  
  
"Why are you doing this?"  
  
"Why? Don't take it personally. You mean less than dirt to me, mudblood. But you happen to be in possession of some knowledge that I dearly want."  
  
She wanted to say something witty but her head was pounding so dreadfully that she couldn't think of a single thing. "What did you do to Ron?"  
  
"So much concern for my husband, Granger. What would people say if they heard you? The Golden Witch who helped bring down You-Know-Who lusting after another woman's husband . . . Did you know that this is not what I had planned? Not that I regret being able to teach you to respect your superiors! No, I had thought I'd cleared up this little problem when I copied your notes but they were incomplete. Where did you hide the ritual guide?"  
  
If her brain didn't hurt, she would have probably shouted 'Aha!' at Cindy's admission. She hadn't told anybody because she was afraid she was going crazy but she thought she had seen someone right before she had been knocked out over a week ago. She wiggled her toes slightly and felt the folded parchment in her right shoe and hoped fervently Stinking Cindy wouldn't think to search her. While congratulating herself on hiding the book, she promised silently that if she lived through this she would learn a nice Lock charm so she wouldn't have to resort to hiding things in her heels. "You're looking for the Mutuus Officium ceremony."  
  
"It looks like I've found it. All I have to do is convince you to share it with me," Cindy said with a sharp laugh.  
  
Knowing that if she shared the ritual, she was likely to be the first participant in centuries, she set her jaw. She met Cindy's eyes for the first time since being captured and prepared herself for the pain. "Then I guess we're both in for a long night."  
  
Understanding her meaning, Cindy gave a feral growl. She raised her wand and in a menacingly calm voice called out, "Crucio!" 


	9. Epilogue: The Future

Sorry about the technical difficulties—this chapter was showing as loaded on my author screen but not on the story page. Hope it's sorted out now.

Epilogue: The Future

**ignis fatuus--a deceptive hope, goal, or influence; a delusion**

_"The pure and simple truth is rarely pure and never simple." --_

_Oscar Wilde _

Birds singing . . . what a dreadful noise.  
  
Feeling as though her head was about to tear down the middle and set the hammers that were currently beating on her skull free, she wondered why being dead was so painful. It wasn't at all what she expected it to be like.  
  
"Oh Merlin, Hermione, are you awake?"  
  
In a cruel replay of the events of last night, the first thing she heard besides those damn loud birds was Ron's voice. Warmer and perhaps more concerned than last time but there it was.  
  
"Please say something, Hermione . . ."  
  
She felt his hands gently brush her hair back from her forehead. Though his touch caused her to ache with pain, it was the jolt of electricity that went through her that made her flinch. Despite everything that had happened, she still loved him and she was unsure whether to laugh or cry at the thought. "I think I'd rather be dead."  
  
"Don't you dare say that, Hermione. Don't you even think it!"  
  
He had clearly never been under the Cruciatus curse for an extended period or he never would have gathered her in his arms causing fiery tongues to travel throughout her body and burn painfully. "Please don't touch me," she choked past the lump in her throat.  
  
He placed her carefully back down and when she finally braved opening her eyes, she saw the hurt in his. She expected him to move away from her so when he didn't she laid her hand softly over his and explained, "It hurts to move. Hell, it hurts to even think."  
  
"Then you must be in real pain," he teased her gently. Turning his hand over to lightly hold hers, he gazed at her face with tears shimmering in his eyes. "It's all my fault."  
  
"Ron, you couldn't have known your wife was a deranged maniac," she assured him though silently adding that everyone else knew there was something seriously wrong with her. Seeing his guilty expression, she decided he didn't deserve her bitterness.  
  
"My wife?"  
  
"Yes, Cynthia. The woman you married yesterday."  
  
"Hermione, you've been unconscious for six days. And she's not my wife."  
  
She tucked away the information about her health for later because her memories were still fuzzy as to what exactly happened the night of his wedding. It didn't surprise her that Ron had already separated from Cynthia. He may be gullible but he was loyal and brave. Once he found out what Cynthia had done, Hermione knew he would not stay with her. Still he must be upset to know that the woman he loved was crazy. With a sympathetic glance, she commented gently, "I didn't know Wizard divorces were so quick."  
  
"They aren't. They're notoriously drawn out and tedious affairs."  
  
"Then how . . .?"  
  
He slipped his hand from under hers and began to pace the length of her bed. She tried to follow his path but it proved to be too tiring so she laid back and rested. He must have figured out what he was going to say because he chuckled sheepishly and observed, "It's a good thing you're sitting down because this is a long story. I'm not sure you'll even believe me."  
  
"That's not a very promising start, Ron."  
  
"I'm not married to Cynthia, Hermione. I never was."  
  
Angry and not really knowing why—because wasn't this exactly what she had wished for—she argued, "Ron, I was at your wedding. You are married."  
  
"No, I'm not. You were at a ceremony but no marriage took place," he rebutted. No doubt sensing her confusion, he took his seat next to her on the bed and smiled down at her. "Have I told you how glad I am that you're okay?"  
  
"Stop trying to change the subject and tell me exactly what's going on."  
  
"The ceremony . . . No, I should start from the beginning. About three months ago, Cynthia walked into The Leaky Cauldron and started hitting on me."  
  
"Do I really need to hear all the gory details," she interrupted. She had already been tortured by his wife, was he trying to make it a family tradition?  
  
"Will you be quiet? For once you don't know everything and you won't understand unless I tell you."  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Thank you," he answered. She guessed he must have seen her stubborn expression because he began to tenderly caress the exposed skin of her arm. The feeling was so totally opposite what had happened when Imposter Ron had done the same that she almost jumped. After the first few seconds it didn't even hurt anymore. "Seeing as I was hanging out with Neville, the current winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile award, I was suspicious."  
  
She wanted to tell him that he had no reason to be, that any woman with eyes would have picked him out of a crowd and wanted him, but he continued, "When I kept turning her down and she kept coming back, I started to wonder why she was so intent on beginning a relationship with me so I started to date her."  
  
Only in Ron's world would this logic make sense.  
  
"She was good, I'll give her that," he said with a hard edge to his voice. "She never came out and asked me but looking back it's easy to see how interested she was in everyone's schedule. I was so blind!"  
  
Sensing his distress, she nodded encouragingly and consequently set off fireworks in her head. Ignoring them, she asked, "What happened, Ron?"  
  
"After the attack at the Ministry, I went to Dad and Bill and told them what I suspected. I knew she was behind the attack. The papers reported that someone was after the Minister but I thought she wanted to hurt Dad."  
  
"But she didn't . . ."  
  
"No, but I didn't know that yet. We decided it would be best if I kept tabs on her and the best way to do that was to stay in the relationship," he reasoned. "It was awful, Hermione. I can't tell you how sorry I am about that. I never wanted to keep it from you and Harry but the fewer people who knew, the better."  
  
"That's an arguable point," she replied with a cynical look but she was too happy at this latest revelation to be very mad. Although she knew herself well enough to know that the anger and questions would come later. But for now the knowledge that he didn't love Cynthia and he never had was enough. Impossible as it may seem, the pounding in her head lessened. "We'll leave that fight for another day."  
  
"It was only a matter of time before she upped the stakes and she insisted we get married. So I purposed."  
  
"Just like that . . ."  
  
"No, Hermione," he said in a voice that only hinted at the torment he must have felt. "Days and days of soul-searching. I know you will find this hard to believe but I didn't want my first time asking a woman to marry me to involve a witch I was sure was trying to kill my father but what choice did I have?"  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
He shook his head at her apology and said, "Nothing to be sorry about. The only thing left to do was tell you and Harry and the rest of the family while under the watchful eye of Cynthia's spies. Anyway, you can imagine how well that went over. I still have a bruise from where Mum hit me with the frying pan."  
  
"Your poor mother."  
  
"Poor mother? Thanks, Hermione, nice to know you're on my side."  
  
"So what happened next?"  
  
"By that time Dad had told the Aurors about our suspicions. They had heightened security for the engagement party but I guess not enough judging from the Floo incident," he muttered.  
  
"Floo incident?"  
  
"Yes, Charlie still talks about it. Although I'm pretty sure it's only because he knows it annoys me. He enjoyed you landing on him too much if you ask me."  
  
She would have rolled her eyes had she not been certain it would have caused her to lose consciousness. She focused on his distracted caress and urged him on. "Back on track."  
  
"Right. Once again, we figured they were after Dad and had tried the Floo network this time. But nothing else happened at the engagement party, much to my disappointment. I wanted to put an end to the farce as soon as possible. It was weeks before anything occured and I didn't even realize it when it did. I thought you had just worked too hard like you always do and had passed out."  
  
He reached up and cupped her cheek. "I never would have forgiven myself if something had happened to you."  
  
"Um, something did. I was tortured with a Cruciatus curse."  
  
"I meant something permanent," he clarified and though a little annoyed at his cavalier attitude she remained quiet. She had long ago grown accustomed to the fact that Ron didn't always articulate his thoughts and feelings well. "Bill had begun to suspect that Dad wasn't her target. Prat didn't say anything to me though, so I didn't know until she disappeared right after the wedding."  
  
"I think you've skipped an important part."  
  
"Did I?"  
  
"Yes, the part where you were at the wedding but not actually getting married."  
  
"Of course. Sorry about that. The wizard who was leading the ceremony . . ."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"It was Mad-Eye Moody in disguise," Ron explained. "So you see? He had no authority to officiate at a wedding and therefore we're—"  
  
"Not married!"  
  
"Ten points to Gryffindor." Licking his lips nervously, he added, "About the wedding, Hermione, I hope you know that if it weren't so important to make her think she had won, I would have—"  
  
"We'll talk about that later, Ron," she cut in, knowing she was in no condition to talk about her behavior at the wedding right then. Curiously she asked, "Does Harry know any of this?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Judging by the shortness of his answer he was uncomfortable. She was obviously feeling better because it took her less than a minute to figure out why. "He's known all along."  
  
"No! Well, not really anyway. I told him about three weeks ago but only because he threatened to beat me senseless if I went through with the wedding. Had you stuck around that night, you probably would have found out too."  
  
"So he's known for almost a month and he managed to keep it a secret," Hermione whispered in awe.  
  
"Hey, Harry's alright. He can keep his mouth shut about the really important stuff."  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
Shifting away from her intense gaze, he shrugged. "I didn't think you cared one way or another."  
  
"Ron! How could you even think that?"  
  
"You had never given any indication. Believe me, had I any inkling of how you felt, I never would have put you through that. I cringe when I remember the look in your eyes during—"  
  
"Don't worry about it," she hastened to assure him. He looked back at her and smiled that goofy smile of his that always melted her heart. He already knew how she felt so there was little point in denying it now. "I was wrong to keep it from you. Don't feel guilty for not being a mind reader . . . Please finish your story."  
  
"The ceremony was over. The reception was a torturous event, complete with Fred and George keeping you as far away from me as possible so I didn't even have a chance to explain and Harry looking like he was ready to save everybody at the first sign of trouble."  
  
"Did the twins know about Cindy?"  
  
"No, they just didn't think I deserved to be around you," Ron admitted, his ears reddening. "We left and were supposed to apparate to the hotel but she never showed up. I thought for sure that she had finally made her move and went directly back to the Burrow to find Dad perfectly fine albeit slightly tipsy. It was then that Bill deigned to share his theory with the rest of us.  
  
"Harry and I immediately went to your flat but the door was open and you were gone. Then I found your wand laying in the floor . . . I've never been so scared in my life. I thought I had lost you." He grabbed her hands in his and squeezed and because he looked so wounded already she didn't tell him that it made her feel like her fingernails were about to fall off.  
  
"He looked like you," she informed him in a husky voice. "He told me he had made a mistake marrying Cindy and he wanted to make it up to me. But I knew it wasn't you. I just couldn't think fast enough to get away from him before things got out of control."  
  
"Polyjuice potion, I guess. The bastards would stop at nothing to get to you. All that time I thought she was after Dad, she really wanted you and he kept getting in the way. She used me to get close. You want to know the ironic thing, she wanted to use the ritual to destroy Malfoy."  
  
At her bewildered look, he explained, "He had heard about your research and done some of his own. Unfortunately, he wasn't quite as thorough as you. When he tried on three—er, let's be generous and call them volunteers—the result was Cynthia's boyfriend and our two favorite apes had their brains reduced to mush. She decided she was going to get the best kind of revenge on Malfoy—"  
  
"Learn the correct ritual with me to practice on before going to avenge her beloved and take what Malfoy valued most . . ."  
  
"His magical power and the coveted role as most despised bad guy."  
  
"She wouldn't have succeeded though," she mused. "She was blinded by the idea of having the power of three or four wizards. Even if I told her it would only work on the willing I doubt she would have listened."  
  
"It took hours to find where they had taken you," he said, picking back up on his narrative. "I was beside myself by then and Bill tried to make me stay behind. Said Harry and I were too involved and no good could come of being so emotional."  
  
"What did you do?"  
  
"What do you think we did? We waited until they apparated and then followed them. Good thing we did because they weren't even close. You were already unconscious when we found you . . . the doctors weren't sure you would come out with your mind intact."  
  
Shifting uncomfortably at the knowledge that she could have lost herself, she commented quietly, "My memories are a little cloudy about this part. Did I tell her anything?"  
  
Looking offended, he responded, "Of course not. Though it wouldn't have mattered to me if you told her that I have a birthmark on my bum and Harry has a phobia of raisins just so long as you survived long enough for us to save you."  
  
"You have a birthmark on your bum?"  
  
"Wouldn't you like to know!"  
  
Actually, she would very much like to know each and every little thing about Ron. She had a good start but some things had to be learned the hard way she supposed—if one considered waking up next to a gorgeous redhead every morning the hard way. "It's over then."  
  
"Not quite but your part is done. Cynthia and her partners are in front of the Wizarding Council as we speak and they'll probably be sent to Azkaban for the rest of their natural lives. Harry is there making sure they get all the facts straight. Imagine her thinking she could best the most famous witch in the world."  
  
"She might have if not for you and Harry."  
  
"No, you would have found a way," he replied faithfully, pressing a soft kiss on her hand. "Now, you need to rest. I was supposed to get the mediwitch as soon as you woke up."  
  
"Ron, I . . . thank you."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"For coming after me," she said as if he were thick. When she saw the expression in his eyes, she realized that she was the one who was being thick.  
  
"I'll always come for you, Hermione," he promised tenderly. "It's the only thing I do really well."  
  
Her hands drifted up to his face and traced the stubble along his jaw. For the first time she noticed how haggard he was and she instinctively knew he had been at her side every moment she had been unconscious. She saw the adoration in his eyes and wondered if he could see it in hers as well. Pulling slowly, she moved his face towards her because she was unable to shift to meet him. He reverently said her name as their lips touched. It was soft and short, he being worried about hurting her and she being too tired to do much more than lie there and enjoy.  
  
When it ended, he buried his face against her neck and held her lightly. Her hand had found its way into his hair and she smiled at the warmth of his body pressed so cautiously against her own. "I can think of something else you're good at . . ."  
  
"You haven't seen anything yet," he joked and she wondered at the burst of heat that exploded within her when she felt his lips stretch into a grin. A few more minutes of Ron therapy and she would be completed recovered.  
  
Not bothering to conceal her excitement, she asked, "When do I get to see more?"  
  
"I can tell I'm going to have my hands full with you," he said, pushing himself upright to lean over her. Seeing her affronted look, he lowered himself briefly to kiss the tip of her nose. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you. To answer your question, not until you're better. I won't touch you again unless you're at a hundred percent."  
  
At her expression of disbelief, he added, "Unless you ask me to of course. Get some sleep, I'll be here when you wake up."  
  
She closed her eyes obediently, surprising them both. Sleep crept over her mind, making the edges of reality blur softly into a hazy dreamworld. Ron's scent surrounded her, the heat of his skin seeped into her own and when she finally surrendered to the comforting blackness she heard him say, "I love you."  
  
She was at peace for the first time in a long time . . .  
  
And Ron would be there when she woke up.

_The End_

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I really do appreciate your comments and tried to incorporate your feedback into the story as much as possible. This is admittedly a very sappy (not to mention cliche) ending but since I denied you a lot of R/H loving for the sake of story, I felt it was the least I could do.

For those of you who feel I did not explain the events between Chapter Seven and the Epilogue in enough detail, perhaps you're right. I had written another scene where Sinister Cindy gets her 'villian explaining the method behind her madness' moment but found that it made this chapter redundant and therefore it was axed. Ron deserved his chance to explain more than my rather shallow original character did.

For those of you who wanted more of a declaration of undying love in this final chapter, I apologize and feel I owe you an explanation. For one, keep in mind Hermione was quite weak and terribly confused after her ordeal. More importantly, I felt her having an overwhelmingly analytical mind would lead her to want explanations not declarations, especially since it was abundantly clear that Ron did not love Cynthia and her own declaration at the wedding had not frightened him away as evidenced by his presence by her sickbed. She put two and two together and got the correct answer of (groan all you want) forever. (Terrible pun, I really should be ashamed of myself.)


End file.
